In Sickness
by repmetsyrrah
Summary: Sybil is sick, Tom plays nurse. 3x05 and CS AU.


**A/N:** For babageneush on Tumblr for responding to my not-so-subtle prodding to download the PBS version of _Downton_ last week and also actually a lot of things, mainly just being a generally awesome person and thinking the same thinks as I do :P

There's not really a plot here either, or even a proper ending, so don't be expecting either of those to appear or anything. It's really just a little moment in the long lives of the Bransons.

**In Sickness**

* * *

All in all, it hadn't been the best day.

Not only was the estate having a bad month but rain had fallen almost constantly for the last five days and even though it had stopped today, the lingering clouds ensured no sunlight made it to the sodden ground, leaving the resident agent trudging through ankle deep mud for the better part of the afternoon as he made his rounds to the farms to try and work through the multitude of problems that had arisen recently.

Tom Branson had known he wouldn't have an easy job when he'd agree to take on the running of Downton but even he had hoped once they had the farms merged and running properly it would get easier.

He'd been naïve.

Years of mismanagement didn't get fixed overnight, or even over a year. And even now, when they were far from any true danger, they were still having their difficult patches and unfortunately this was one of them.

He had just hung his coat up when a very loud and sudden noise from the direction of the hallway startled him out of his thoughts.

He froze.

Sybil was at work, their daughter at the Abbey. He should have been the only person in the cottage.

"Matthew?" he called cautiously, wondering if his brother-in-law had stopped by to discuss the latest reports from some farm or the other. But even though he had a key it was unusual for him to call around unexpectedly- not since the second time he'd walked in on Sybil bent over the kitchen bench, loudly expressing her approval of what her husband was doing behind her.

There was no reply.

Tom frowned, wondering how quietly he could make it to the kitchen and open the knife drawer when the sound came again, from the bedroom and he relaxed as he realised what it was. "Sybil, love?"

His relaxation was short-lived however, as he opened the door to find his normally radiant wife propped up in bed, her skin pale, her nose red and coughing harshly.

"I think I'm sick," Sybil told him miserably and it was such an obvious fact Tom, despite his concern, found himself fighting not to laugh.

"I think you might be," he said instead, moving to kneel beside the bed and kissing her forehead gently.

"You'll get sick," she protested.

"I was sick two weeks ago, I've had this one," Tom reminded her, hoping what had bought him down earlier that month was in fact the same thing ailing his darling wife. "Did you need me to call Dr. Clarkson?"

Sybil shook her head. "I already have, he said I shouldn't go in tomorrow either."

"I'm no doctor but he's right," Tom agreed, "but perhaps we should we ask him to come here? You looked fine when I left this morning." Granted she had been asleep, enjoying the lie-in her late start afforded her that day.

"My throat was a little sore last night," Sybil admitted with another cough, "I hoped it was nothing."

_I didn't want to worry you_, she didn't say, though Tom knew that's what she had been thinking. Ever since she had almost died delivering their daughter he had been terrified by every sneeze or headache she complained of. No matter how many times Sybil- and everyone else for that matter- reminded him eclampsia was only caused by pregnancy he couldn't help recalling how close he'd come to losing her and the absolute helpless terror he'd been forced to endure watching her suffering and pain.

"I'll be fine, Tom, _really_." Sybil's hoarse voice broke though his thoughts and he looked up at her. "but I'd rather not risk Saoirse getting it."

"I'll head up to the Abbey and explain to her that she gets to stay the night," Tom told her, trying to remain calm by coming up with a plan. "Then I shall come back here and play nurse. You," he said, kissing her again on her forehead, "will stay right here, resting, relaxing and not worrying about a single thing until I get back. Okay?"

Sybil nodded, though when she opened her mouth to reply she only managed to trigger a coughing fit. Tom quickly knelt beside her, rubbing her back and making what he hoped were soothing noises.

When the coughing finally subsided Sybil gratefully accepted the cup of water Tom poured her. She kissed her fingers then bought them up to press them to his cheek in lieu of attempting to speak again.

"I won't be gone long," Tom promised, tucking the sheets up around her and returning the gesture.

Thankfully everyone at Downton was sympathetic and their daughter more than excited to spend a night with her cousins and Nanny. Tom returned to his wife carrying a bowl of soup and a jar of honey from Mrs. Patmore and her family's best wishes for her speedy recovery.

"I was hoping you'd be asleep," he said quietly, as he re-entered the bedroom to see Sybil propped up on her pillows, looking if possible, even more miserable than she had when he had left.

"I tried," Sybil told him, thankfully without coughing, "but my throat hurts too much."

"Mrs. Patmore sent chicken soup and some honey for your throat," Tom told her, "here." He knelt down beside the bed, taking the lid off the jar and dipping a spoon in.

Sybil nodded, still looking terribly ill and Tom desperately wished he could do more than offer her honey and support. He would gladly suffer this illness again if it meant she would be okay.

Sybil swallowed the honey he offered her before prying the spoon and jar out of his hands. "I can do this," she told him, "you go and get the soup ready."

Tom nodded and left to do as she asked, fully aware she was simply trying to distract him again but grateful to have a task to set his mind to.

After he had heated the soup he poured two mugs, Mrs. Patmore had given him enough and it did smell heavenly, and placed them on a tray with a jug of water and a pile of folded handkerchiefs. He had just arranged it all to fit and was about to take it into the bedroom when his eye was caught by a piece of white fabric hanging over the back of one of the chairs.

He smiled as he realised what it was and felt an idea forming.

Sybil took a moment to look up when he came back but at the sight of her husband with the headscarf from her nursing uniform wrapped around his head she couldn't help bursting into laughter. It ended with her coughing again and Tom almost regretting his joke until she recovered and looked back up at him, still giggling.

"Tom, take that off."

"I can't be a proper nurse without my headscarf now can I?" he asked with a grin. The scarf was too small and he'd had no idea if he had tied it correctly but it had had the desired effect and he was pleased to see Sybil's smile remain as she picked up her mug of soup.

"You're ridiculous, you know?"

"But you love me," he reminded her, wishing he could kiss her properly but settling instead for taking her hand in his and kissing her hand like a true gentleman would kiss his Lady.

"That I do, Nurse Branson," she replied, still grinning as she sipped her soup, letting out an appreciative sigh at Mrs. Patmore's talents.

"Are you feeling better?" Tom asked, hopeful that his wife might already be shaking the illness. He had been laid down for two days and felt sick for the better part of a week but Sybil always seemed to recover much quicker.

"_It's because I'm a nurse_," she would joke, as she took his temperature or forced soup down his throat. "_My job is to take care of my patients, not join them."_

"A little," Sybil sighed, "the honey helped my throat but my head still aches and my nose is all stuffed up and I feel _awful_."

"You don't think it's anything serious, do you?" Tom asked, suddenly concerned by the stress she put on the last word.

"No, it's just a cold," she assured him, reaching out and taking his hand in hers. "It'll be gone in a few days."

She took another sip from her mug and Tom felt his hand reach out automatically as her hair fell across her face. He let his fingers brush her cheek softly as he tucked the errant strands behind her ear.

"I love you," he said, always worried he never told her enough.

Sybil smiled back at him. "I know," she told him, "and I love you too. Now," she said, finishing off the last of the soup and putting the mug on her bedside table, "these pillows are getting a little uncomfortable. Come give me something nicer to fall asleep on."

He complied gladly, undressing and joining her in bed, pulling her close to rest on his chest and stroking her hair as she slowly drifted to sleep.


End file.
